Vanish
by a subtle shade of iridescence
Summary: After the events of the Avengers, Loki is declared "mentally incompetent" by the Allfather and labeled "an embarrassment to Asgard" from everyone else. Thor may find him redeemable but convincing himself that he is worth saving was always the challenging part, and he may be more lost than anyone knows. WARNING: potentially triggering. Mentions of self-harm and anorexia.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello! This is my first attempt at writing a Loki centered fanfic. I have plenty of other ideas for fics but I am sliiightly insecure and I wanna see how this one goes. Hopefully you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter One:**

"Oh it's you. Hello, Sif. Look at what I just-"

"Thor. He's gone."

"What-"

"He's run off again... And Thor. I think this is it. I think this time it's for good."

* * *

A letter addressed to no one.

_Don't look for me. __I tried but I just couldn't do__ Just believe that wherever I am that I am doing well. You can tell them all that I died in some unfortunate event or that I never existed at all- just do not come after me. _

_I'm sorry. Do not look for me. __Please do not look for me._

_Be happy. I'm sorry for all the pain I have caused. I'm sorry about Mother.__  
_

_-Loki_

* * *

He tried. He tried so damn hard. How could he tell them that without receiving a smothering, patronizing "I know how you feel" speech?

(Thor)

Or a scoff?

(Sif)

Or gazes that would just look away, self-embarrassed?

(Fandral)

(Hogun)

(Volstagg)

Or the one gaze that could shatter his resolve beyond repair and make Loki want to hide before he saw the indifferent depth in _his _eye, replaced by the view of his back?

(Father)

(Odin)

Odin would turn away. He knew it. He has witnessed it happen before.

(_**No, Loki**_)

So he _ran_. Left behind a letter because he couldn't leave them all a better _him_.

A prince who could stand to walk on his own through the halls and handle weapons in the Training Room without twenty different pairs of eyes turning to watch him, waiting for him to sink a blade deep into his wrists.

A prince who could sit in the Dining Room and laugh and eat and boast stories of hunting adventures and grand battles instead of twenty different pairs of eyes to turn and stare at his near-empty plate and compel him with their steel eyes to fill the hollows between his protruding ribs.

A prince who could walk into a room recieving _hellos _instead of glares, people bowing their heads repectively instead of scanning the scars down the length of his too-thin arms. A prince who could fill the room with greetings and laughs instead of painful silences and unspoken accusations.

A little brother who could give his older brother more than the sympathetic glances of strangers. A friend who could remember to smile in all the right places instead of filling the gaps in conversation like it was an obligation.

(what a pretty lie that would be)

(But you have told it before, haven't you?)

* * *

_You have destroyed this family_, Odin said when he saw the angry slashes on his arms.

He did not shout. Merely stated it as if it were as factual and insignificant as the weather.

* * *

_Did you hear about the prince? _They all whisper. _Is it true what they say?_

_Is it true he's insane?_

* * *

He runs through miles of biting forest. The branches snatch at his hair and clothes, trying to chain him here. They leave angry red marks to remind him of the ones that came before.

His scars tingle.

He slipped off the slimy feel of Heimdall's forever watching gaze with a tricky spell. So many months of making sure that the youngest prince of Asgard did not stray from the encaging walls of Asgard's palace. Making sure that Loki did not wander off too far away from Thor or Sif, ascertaining that every blade was accounted for at the end of the day, that every bath Loki took was exactly ten minutes, like clockwork.

(not enough time to bleed out)

(not enough time to drown oneself either)

(at least without being caught)

As if the ever present stares from Asgard's townspeople weren't enough, he had to deal with subjecting Heimdall to a demotation from Guardian of the Worlds to babysitter for a certain mentally unstable prince.

* * *

_There is a phrase that mortals use for disorders such as these, Allfather_, Eir said._They call it manic depression. That, along with him not eating and his self-destructive behavior..._

_Well... it's not a question of _if_, but_ when.

Odin blinked. _Why has Asgard never dealt with cases such as these before?_

Eir sighed. _Mortals and... those of lesser advanced realms are commonly afflicted by ailments such as these. Ailments of the mind that Asgard has long since progressed past._

The room was silent.

(nobody spoke aloud what everyone was thinking)

* * *

His breaths come hard in the winter chill. He convinced himself before he ran that the darkness of the night would feel like a cloak, safely draped across his shoulders to hide him from view, lest _they _come running after him. Now he feels horribly constricted- as if the darkness is choking him. The starlight shines down bright and illuminates his pale skin.

(that too was always different, wasn't it?)

His pallor shines like a beacon in the middle of tangled branches, signaling to all of the suspiciously shaped shadows his exact location. He imagines them coming alive to rip out his throat.

He feels like a little boy again, when he was lost for hours and hours on end until night came along with all its shadowy friends with beady eyes and scissory claws. The shadows came alive and paralyzed him with terror until they finally heard his screaming and found him.

He almost calls for Thor like he did then too, before he chokes it down.

(remember yourself, Laufeyson.)

* * *

_You are to stay with him at all times_, Odin said.

_He will sleep in your chambers. You will wait ten minutes outside the door every night in the Bathing Rooms. You will be his shadow_, Odin told Thor.

You _will accompany him every time that Thor is not. Escort him to the Dining Hall. To the Training Room. You understand how imperative it is to have your eyes on Loki at all times when you are in these places_, Odin told Sif.

_Keep an eye on him. Make certain he does not set foot outside of the palace_, Odin told Heimdall.

_Loki must not be left alone_, Odin told them all.

He listened outside of the door. Peered through the crack. He saw the glance Thor and Sif exchanged. The look of astonished grief he mistook for exasperation.

* * *

(_You will be his shadow._)

(Well, that's changing things up a bit, isn't it?)

* * *

Where can he go?

Not Jotunheim, Loki knows. Definitely not there. He would rather feel the demanding agony of the flames of Muspelheim before he feels the chill of his true birth land again.

(and his arm turned blue at the touch of the monster and he could not help but think _Oh..._)

(_It all makes sense now._)

Fleetingly, he pictures the image of another forest, softer and full of light, where just below a cliff's edge of a foilage lies a small town glittering with artificial light.

* * *

_What _is _that, Papa? _Loki breathed.

Odin's eye looked down and twinkled. _Light_, he said simply. _Mortals create their light through tiny spurts of electricity, much like lightning._

_Like Mjolnir_! Thor shouted, grinning.

Odin chuckled. _Yes, like Mjolnir. Though quite not the same as you think, my son._

Loki could not take his eyes off them. The sparkling bulbs would resemble stars, if they weren't so close to the ground.

* * *

Midgard, he breathes. Midgard.

If he wasn't so breathless and terrified, he would laugh at the _sheer irony _of it all. The idea is so ridiculously ludicrous, so laughably, _stupidly _unexpected- to go to the very place that a mere two years ago he tried to subjugate- that got him the label of _mentally incompetent _in the first place-and seek refuge.

It is so _unlikely _that immediately- Loki knows it is the perfect place to go.

He stumbles for a second on a protruding stump of a tree and stops- cursing and holding his foot- when he hears them.

The branches snap a mere distance away. Loki freezes- straining to hear past the distracting sounds of insects and rushing water nearby.

Then- they start calling his name.

"Loki! Loki! LOKI!"

They are searching for him. Obviously, his pleas in his letter to be left alone have been ignored. He honestly shouldn't feel surprised over this and he hates himself for being so.

"LOKI!"

He runs faster but quieter. His too-thin limbs ache with the strain and already, even in the dark, he can see the black spots cover the edge of his vision. He cannot risk blacking out _now_- not when they lurk so close behind. But if he doesn't run faster, they will catch him. There is not much of a choice so he wills himself to stay upright and forces his limbs to move on, one step after the other.

"LOKI!"

Does he imagine it or do some call halfheartedly, like they want him to stay lost so they will never again have to deal with the consequences of him being found?

"LOKI!"

Inexplicably, names emerge from the voices. A face with rugged features and a warm smile. A woman's scowling face and watchful eyes.

Thor and Sif call the loudest.

(where's Odin?)

(was it not he who found you when you were just a child at play in the night?)

He imagines his starved legs snapping like kindling. He imagines his rib cage caving in on itself from his heaving gasps of air. He imagines the pathetically small heap of bloody remains his body would make. Even the rabid wolves would turn away in disgust.

He imagines his skeleton body falling to the leaves that litter the ground like crumpled paper drawings a child would make. His arms pump hard at his sides as he runs and gasps for air and he imagines how _easy _it would be to let them fall, to let his body just _give in _to the shadows and sleep forever.

But the thought of his ghost weight, the dangerously thin limbs splayed out in every direction stops him. The thought of Odin's embarrassed face as he would look upon his too-thin too-small too-frail too-weak despicably _weak _runt of a son makes him keep going. The thought of Thor's bulky, strong arms cradling his starved corpse makes him push on because he cannot be held in those arms that would look bigger than his entire body. He cannot bear to think of Odin poking his scarred, emaciated arms and saying _He was not enough. There was not enough of him._

He was never enough of anything, not even himself. He was never enough.

* * *

_What reason do I have to try? _Loki asked in a half state of consciousness, numbed and rendered incapacitated from the medication and spells Eir was running through his blood.

Sif turned from her bedside vigil. Her presence confused him more than anything. Honor and duty bound her to watch over him by the Allfather's orders and make certain her prince did not do anything absurdly stupid, like launch himself off Bifrost. It did not bind her to stay by his bedside as he mumbled and cried out incoherently, as if she was loyally accompanying an old friend instead of admitting they were anything other than enemies who loathed and betrayed each other one too many times.

Sif said nothing but a soothing "_shh_" that was unfitting with the hostile scorn Loki associated with her in his mind. And then after a moment- Sif placed her hand over Loki's chest, where his heart beat falteringly.

It did not feel like a gesture of constraint or of comfort- but rather like an answer to his question.

_What reason do I have to try?_

He wanted to scoff and shove her hand off. Instead he passed out. Such sentiments are not reserved for monsters.

* * *

He knows where it is. He knows where to go.

If anyone had been paying any attention to him (the kind that mattered) they would have noticed something was off.

Not big noticeable things- but small, insignificant tidbits that made all the difference.

* * *

_He is getting better_, Thor told Odin.

Look at how he fills his plates all on his own. Look at how he can bathe himself. Look at how straight he sits, how unflinching he is when he passes by metal.

Did they really underestimate the God of Lies once more? Was their arrogance so great and pompous that they thought him docile and compliant as he used to be?

Yet Loki played along. Ate all of the food on his plate. Did not hide blades beneath his mattress. Hovered close to Sif when they were at each others' throats and didn't try to run. Nodded his head to Thor's constant reassurances and his idiotic good-natured advice.

Sit. Roll over. Good boy.

In return, Thor and Sif let loose the chain around his neck ever so slightly. It was all that he needed to slip out of the collar.

* * *

Loki can hear the pounding roar of water ahead. The sound of the waterfall masks his footsteps slightly so he allows himself to move a little quicker. He can taste blood in his mouth from the strain. His lungs ache.

One step. Another. Keep going. Do not stop.

He is almost there.

Ahead, he knows where it will be. The little sliver on the side of a cliff that leads to a cave. Inside that cave will not be hollow space- but a passage.

A secret pathway. A thread between the worlds. A very particular thread that connects to Midgard.

He spies the cliff ahead, the sudden end of thick forest that leads to a clearing overlooking the majestic view of Asgard's towering mountains in the distance, the land between forest and mountain churning with water below.

Rain starts to fall- harsh and unforgivably cold. Loki glances back- he wishes Thor would stop despairing.

(_Be happy_, he wrote.)

(Like you once were when I was the shadow)

* * *

Loki's small hand pointed to an ancient drawing on the page.

_And that connects to... _He furrowed his little eyebrows. _Midgard?_

Frigga threw her head back and laughed, the sound more musical than the tinkling patter of rain on the window. She squeezed him tighter than the book between them.

_My child_, she whispered, eyes twinkling. _How clever you are._

* * *

She is gone now.

* * *

"LOKI!" Thor roars.

Above, lightning flashes. The crashing boom that follows shakes the ground between them and vibrates Loki's bones, his feet cradling the edge of the cliff and nearly losing his balance. He can hear the anguish of his brother's cries behind him but cannot tear his eyes from the churning water five hundred feet below.

Time stops.

The loutish footfalls of the search party finally stop. The wind eerily quiets down so Loki can hear in exquisite perfect detail the very moment Thor's heart shatters into a million pieces.

They freeze behind him- frightened that one move closer with compel Loki to jump.

He knows what this must look like- him standing on the edge of a precipice, arms held out slightly like he's tempted to launch himself off the cliff during that insane split second when nothing seems as appealing as jumping.

He never wanted this. He did not want Thor to come after him until it was too late. Did not want to hear Thor say with all the reason in the world that he was loved, that people waited for him, that he needed to come home. Just come home.

But don't they understand that he's not giving up?

(just giving in?)

He breathes deeply once and then turns away from the raging black water beneath. His eyes look through freezing droplets of rain and wind and dark air between them to lock eyes with his brother for reasons he cannot name.

(I can't do this anymore, Brother I cannot say it but _I cannot do this anymore-_)

Ahead is freedom, sweet and clear. Behind is pain and humiliation. But behind is also where Thor is.

But what if he didn't want to be like Thor anymore?

He breathes deeply. Looks ahead to the churning water below and wonders when his plan to leave to Midgard morphed into a plan of jumping to his death.

"Loki, no-" Thor begins.

And there it is. Loki smiles. He has heard those words before. He takes it as his cue.

"**NO**!" Thor shouts and the crack of thunder rips apart the air as Loki falls forward.

* * *

To be continued.

A/N: Please please please review if you have the time and let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I am so so so so so sorry for the delay. Life kinda caught up and kicked me in the rear, you know?

Ok. So. In the beginning of this chapter, I had no idea how Norse timelines compare to human ones, so for plot purposes- I used the normal age range that one would use for a human child. Sorry if that bothers anyone but seriously- I have no clue.

Would a ten year old in Midgard be the same as a 100 year old on Asgard or something? Again. No clue. If you would like, I would appreciate forever and ever if anyone could clarify if there's someone out there who knows.

But for now- I'm using relative human ages to make sense for everyone involved. (ahem) Onward!

* * *

_He has tasted the lure of suicide before. _

_Countless times, multiple times. _

_It became as routine as his morning tea. He became insensitized to it, thoughts during breakfast of driving the butter knife home skimming through his head without the clanging of his heart. His mother and father would sit, sipping their tea, unaware. Thor would continue his boisterous talk and jaunting laughter while Loki would roll his eyes and mock him in all of the right places- everyone around him unaware of how the blood in his veins sang for the silver of the knife a mere three inches away and how his fingers _itched_._

_He was thirteen years old._

* * *

Falling tastes much like the bitterness of lies. Once spilled over the edge of a mouth or a precipice, there is no return. There is always the swooping feeling in his stomach, the feel of the sudden drop, the immediate realization that it cannot be taken back.

His body free falls over the edge of the cliff and only now does he feel fear. He falls screamless- soundless as the sky all around him is not- thunder crashes with deafening _booms _and lightning flashes white with such an intensity that Loki swears he can hear the light _wailing_.

He falls for a second- or eternity.

(Time does not exist in the Void)

_But this isn't the Void_, he reminds himself feverishly.

(the fall two years ago should have been the last)

_But this will be the last, _he promises himself faintly.

(the words _**no, Loki **_should have been the last too)

But there were so many words since then, all biting and all corrosive on his skin. So many words since then he should not have heard, words that he should have been too far gone to care about.

He did not cheat Death two years ago- Death cheated him.

* * *

Thor watches, the air suspended, dreamlike, because- _this cannot be happening_.

His little brother is not really leaning over the edge of the cliff, arms extended and face turned upwards, holding a peace that Thor has never seen in two years. This Loki cannot be real- not this man whose pallor is brighter than the life behind his eyes.

He was getting better. He was supposed to be getting better.

(_Are you ever _not _going to fall for that?_)

Grief cascades down Thor's face in the form of rainwater. Beside him, Sif inhales sharply- her body tensed and poised to rush forward, her arms already forming the shape it would take to grab Loki, to yank him away from the brink of death.

Thor isn't sure if the fall would kill him but the ridges of his bones are clearly visible in the moonlight. He looks starved. He looks fragile. He looks- _breakable_. Surely, the fall would kill him. But then again, Thor was always taken by surprise, bordering on _shock_- how much pain his little brother could take. How much he could withstand.

The calculation takes a split second- from Thor's eyes skirting from his brother to the depths below the cliffs, the churning water underneath looking more sinister than any enemy Thor has ever faced. Loki could survive the fall. He could die from the fall.

It is not a chance he is willing to take.

A crash of thunder shakes the foundation of all around him- the guards, the ground, Sif, Thor himself- all tensed and waiting for something to happen, something to shatter the heavy glass that freezes them all in place.

"Loki, no-" Thor begins.

It happens.

Loki leans too far forward, his ghost weight falling over in a wisp of air. He falls too quiet- a whisper _hush _goodbye. His body disappears and Thor realizes, dimly- that Loki's saccharine look back was the last time he would see Loki's eyes.

Someone shouts the word that Thor's entire being is screaming with- and then he realizes it is his own voice.

(no)

* * *

Two years ago when Loki let go, Thor swore he could count the eight seconds it took for Loki to disappear. He could reach deep into the recess of his memory and place Loki where he was still reachable- his ivory fingers still grasping on five inches away. Thor could count the strands of Loki's hair and describe the shining color his tears streaked down his face. He could add up all of the seconds, break down all of the words spoken and looks given. He could paint the clearest picture and freeze Loki there forever- despairing and lost- but still reachable. Salvageable.

Thor convinced himself he would have let go. He would have jumped after him, if Odin's hand did not close tightly over his ankle- daring him to try the same. Thor convinced himself that he tried the hardest he could to catch him, that it was Odin who refused to let him.

It was easier than telling himself the truth.

* * *

This time, Thor does not hesitate. He lunges himself over the edge after his brother.

* * *

Coldness swallows Loki whole. His porcelain skin absorbs the water and fills his throat, his lungs, his stomach. He cringes- his body has not felt full for years.

The impact must have shattered his bones but he cannot feel anything but the coldness of the water. The burn of his un-oxygenated lungs diminishes into an almost indecipherable pain. He begins to go numb from the bottom up- the cold is eating away at him until all that will be left is a waterlogged corpse. A bag of skin and bones inflated with nothing but water.

Through the slivers of his eyelashes, he looks up at the fading silver of the moonlight. It shines over the rippling surface that is getting farther and farther away as he sinks down. The water itself is a dark, inky blue. The roaring of the sky is silenced- finally. The quiet is soothing, even peaceful.

Then suddenly- it ripples. Shards of moving silver disturb the tranquil surface, a dark figure taking shape that looms ever closer.

The cold spreads to his waist- then his chest. His fingers twitch feebly in the water before they go completely still. He cannot even manage to feel afraid when the figure blocks out the moonlight and everything goes from inky blue to velvet black.

* * *

Thor cradles his little brother's body to his chest, silently begging him to absorb some of his warmth. He sprints towards the lights of the palace, every step longing for Mjolnir- wishing he could fly and be quicker, over the length of foliage that drags him ever slower, his steps clumsy and sluggish in the middle of thick woods. But he could not have been able to hold Mjolnir and Loki at the same time. Not with him like this. Not when he is so fragile Thor cannot feel him breathe.

Sif pants ahead of him, her blade slashing down weeds and nettles before they have a chance of getting in Thor's way. She flings down her blade with a furious vengeance, her knuckles white as she grips her sword, power evident in her every limb. The only functioning part of Thor's brain not focused on keeping Loki alive can only stare after her in awe.

Loki does not stir. There is no twitch, not even a _whisper _of a breath in him.

If it were not for the feeble pulse Thor detected as soon as he pulled Loki out of the black waters, he would have believed he cradled a corpse. He wills himself to push his limbs forward faster. The Aesir guards sprinting around him exchange glances and telltale shakes of the head that Thor completely ignores- at least until he can get Loki to the Healing Room. He can pummel them all to the ground once Loki is safe.

They finally clear the forest and their footsteps echo on stone path now. Ahead is the palace, blessedly near.

Thor sees the Warriors Three a mere one hundred yards away. Fandral's head spins around at the sound of the procession and jolts forward, a large steed in tow. Volstagg's head snaps up from where he was dozing off, seated by the stone wall. Hogun alone looks completely unsurprised by the crowd of Aesir guards and the state of the two princes of Asgard- drenched to the skin and covered with nettle marks- and merely looks grimly at the dripping body Thor holds in his arms.

"How is he?" Fandral asks quickly- yanking the large stallion forward by the reins.

"Alive," is all Thor can manage. He hauls himself and Loki on top of the saddle- awkwardly cradling his still form- and propels the steed forward and takes off in the direction of the castle.

He cares not if anyone else follows. The stallion races ahead towards the looming castle doors, already opening.

"Hold on, Loki," he mumbles as the horse rides straight past the steel doors and into the halls with echoing steps, ignoring the alarmed looks and shouts from passerby. "Hold on, hold on, hold on..." he whispers again and again.

Loki's sharp cheekbones cast shadows over his white face. The biting winter air left frozen slivers of ice in his dark hair, his eyelashes, his eyebrows. Ice crusts over his clothes and falls to the ground like snowflakes with every jolt the horse's steps make.

Thor wonders if he holds a ghost and he tastes a fear deep in the back of his throat. He swallows down the urge to retch and instead urges the horse on faster. They gallop down long hallways, deafening echos of hooves sounding as loud as the hammering of Thor's heart.

"Hold on, Loki- Oh Norns, _please_, hold on..."

The doors to the Healing Room lie open. Already a crowd of Healers await their arrival- Eir standing tall and formidable in her focus at the head of the group. Several of the younger apprentices jump back in alarm at the enormous horse speeding towards them, exclaiming and leaping away as Thor pulls the steed abruptly to a halt a foot away in front of them. Only a young healer, standing by Eir's right side, remains still and alert.

Eir rushes forward and looks in dismay at the limp figure in Thor's arms. The young healer moves immediately to pull Loki from Thor's arms. Despite his rush to get here, Thor cannot help but feel a desperation in separating from Loki. He cannot shake the feeling that this will be the last time he will see him- the last time he will hold him.

Eir moves towards Loki in a daze. "Oh Norns..," she whispers.

In the torch lit hall, Thor sees Loki clearly for the first time in the entire night, unmasked with the darkness of the night outside.

Without his layers and layers of leather- Loki lies bare, a simple tunic and thin layer of pants halfway ripped to shreds from running through dense forest.

Thor's head reels back to the day before. No- the week before. Had Loki been evading Thor's glances, skirting away from all suspicion by a simple thin smile and calm countenance? Because he cannot remember seeing his brother looking like- _this_.

Had he even been looking at all?

His skin is so pale- almost bluish lips and eyelids- that Thor believes he must be bloodless. His right arm and left leg are awkwardly bent in an unnatural angle. His skin is lined with scratches and marks from clawing branches. Every ridge of his bones, long shadows cast by the deep crevices, are so sharply pronounced that Thor expects them to cut through his skin. Loki is a skeleton draped with a blanket whiter than the snow littering the ground outside.

But it is not these details that make Thor's head spin, or make Eir's skin turn a delicate shade of green, or make the young healer's eyes fill with trembling tears.

It is the scars.

Lines track the soft inside of Loki's arms and hipbones. The barely exposed white skin of his hip sends a gasp of shock through Eir's mouth and a wave of revulsion through Thor- not only because of how hollow and sharp the crevice is- but because the scars there are so deep that blood forms a shallow pool where the bone and skin should be filled with flesh. Crisscrossing lines of garnet. Deep white marks on skin from years before that will never fade away. The most freshest ones that Loki carved on himself are dripping steadily, either opened once more with the rush of the chaos this night has wrought or never fully healed at all.

The crowd of bodies around Loki take a collective pause- then flurry into action. Eir is already inside the Healing Room, readying tonics and rapidly muttering incantations to stem the flow of blood leaking from his little brother. The two wiry healers carrying Loki flitter after her, their weightless burden in tow.

Thor glimpses a skeletal hand in the rush of bodies before Loki is lost through the doors.

(was it not I who swore to protect you?)

He stands frozen on the spot. Wondering if he was too late. Praying to the Norns this will not be the last time he sees Loki alive.

(Protector of the Nine Realms indeed.)

The young healer is also making her way inside the doors when she pauses- hesitating at the door. She turns to Thor with wide blue eyes and manages a tense smile, even though her eyes and Thor's are still brimming with the horror of what they just saw written in the skin of the younger prince.

"We will take care of him, my liege." Her voice is calm, steady- practiced and refined against the pressure of dealing with broken and bloodied bodies as only an experienced healer can be. Thor can only dimly hope she fares well against broken and bloody minds.

(oh brother, how did you get so bloodied and broken?)

_Do you not know_? asks a voice that echoes in the hollows of his head, sounding too much like Loki. _Do you _really_ not know? _

(a shadow)

_Do not pretend not to know. _

"Thank you," Thor manages. The healer nods, then hurries through the door- thoughts visibly switching from one prince to another in a heartbeat.

(living in the shade of your _greatness_)

Thor stands dripping black water in the middle of the corridor, feeling strangely alone and utterly useless.

* * *

When he dreams, he dreams of monsters.

They stand around him with the metal claws and their sharp glass teeth.

They bite at his insides and send tiny bugs inside of his raw and bloodied mouth- they crawl between his teeth and fester all the way down until he feels their weight settling in his stomach.

The monsters are cramming fluid down his throat.

No. _NO_. He doesn't want to eat- he doesn't he doesn't he doesn't-

His head is submerged in water and everything sounds muffled. He can hear their chatter- feel their commotion. They know his name and he cannot understand _how_. He cannot understand _why_- until he remembers the shadows in the woods and realizes they must have caught him. He must have lost the battle against the dark. They must have seen his arms and fingered out the outline of his name in the scars. Yes. Yes- it is the only plausible explanation.

They speak in their poison soft manner- speaking lies, terrible _lies_.

_Loki- you must lie still. Stop fighting us. _

No- no- he doesn't want to.

_Lie still! You will hurt yourself further if you do not- calm- down-_

He moans aloud and they rush around him, making such terrible noise.

_We want to help you, Loki. Let us help you. _

The most obscene lie. The most unforgivable. He is a monster and they are monsters and they have come to claim their own with their sharp demon teeth and they will consume him if he swallows their lies.

_We only want to help. Why won't you let us help?_

He will consume himself before he will let them fill him up with their lies anymore.

_Loki. Let us help you._

He rears his head back and lets out a pitiful moan he meant to shape into words. _No. Leave me be. Go away. Leave me alone, why can't you just leave me _**alone**_...?_

He thinks he feels snow in his hair. His shredded clothes are soaked with icy water. Can they see how he does not shiver? He is beyond cold, freezing, yet he refuses to quake with it.

(monster)

The cold has never been alien to him. He has always felt it. Always shivered with it.

(jotun)

He is a monster. They can all see it now, embedded deep in the white of his skin that should be blue.

* * *

To be continued.

A/N: Ah well. Hope it was worth the wait, even though this chapter was giving me exceptional trouble. Ugh.

Well, stick around for the next chapter. I promise, things will get rolling plot wise.

Also, thank you for those who review and stick around and follow this story. It makes me tear up how people can be so nice by just offering up the smallest word of encouragement. I love you all and thank you 3


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: What a month, I apologize 100,000,000 times for the delay. I had to get adjusted to my whole life that turned upside down- starting college, family stuff, moving out- it's been crazy and hectic and only this weekend was I finally able to type this out. This chapter is a tad longer to make up for the delay. Thank you my sweet little readers for your patience and reviews and support and I LOVE YOU ALL. Just wanted to say that I do plan to finish this story and updates will hopefully be more regular now I've got my shit together. I very much hope the wait was worth it. Thank you to all the lovebugs that review and read this story- I am literally shocked that people take time out of their lives to help me be a better writer. I love you all. Seriously- I'm speechless.

Ok- enough of me being a sap. Onward!

* * *

"_Do you truly not understand the gravity of your crimes?"_

_Odin's voice rang out throughout the bias. Loki could not contain the hilarity bubbling up in his mouth at Odin's rage, at his shame. He laughed freely, openly, _mocking_._

Good_, he thought viciously. _Let him feel what he has subjected me to all of these years. Let him feel the shame of what the House of Odin has hidden under its nose for all these years.

_The people watching on jeered at the fallen prince, throwing insult after insult towards the one who just a year ago, they called King. _

_The trial was meant to be a sentencing, a mere formality even though his fate had long been decided. But-_

"_Wait," a voice rang across the bias. And Loki turned towards Thor's stupidly stubborn voice, already halfway through a roll of the eyes. Before freezing in shock at what his eyes found. _

"_Thor," the Allfather began, a warning that shivered through the walls. _

_Thor stepped forward, unflinching and head high. "Allfather, I bring a witness to shed light on the true circumstances of the prisoner's crimes."_

_Loki could not breathe. The witness stepped forward into the light._

* * *

Thor strides through the doors of the Throne Room, his arms moving aggressively to push the heavy oak out of the way. His steps echo loudly and he dimly remembers the way this hall used to feel so warm and welcoming as the citizens of Asgard would gather for whatever the occasion.

Fleetingly, a memory comes to mind. When he swaggered through these same doors a lifetime ago. The smell of metal and sunlight. A vivid red cloak. The burning bright pride he felt at playing the soon-to-be king. There was a mother there. And a brother who was whole, too.

(_Oh, now _that's_ funny._)

(_Fool._)

(_Do not pretend you did not _see, the voice reminds him again.)

He blinks hard to clear his head. Now, this hall just feels tarnished.

All of its glorious décor is vast and alone- save for one person. And Thor cannot help but feel a sudden, scorching rage at the way _he_ stands at the bias of the throne chair so calmly.

As if Thor didn't still ice clinging on his soaked tunic. As if Loki wasn't lying somewhere reachable, a mere ten floors away from their father.

Odin makes no move to acknowledge the presence of his eldest son. He stands, his back slightly arched over, facing away from Thor with one withered hand clutching the armrest of the chair.

Thor swallows the tight ball in his throat and waits for Odin to turn to him, or more importantly- to ask after his youngest.

It does not come. Thor cannot help to feel impatient, bordering on desperation. He feels the urge to scream and yell at Odin in fury over his futileness, his stillness when Thor himself cannot seem to shake the urge to run and _run_ until he can find Loki again. His brother. With the bright eyes and the smile that came so easily. Not the ghost who has taken his place ten floors away.

Odin does not move from his silent inspection of the view- a high dome of a window with cascading moonlight across the ceiling- a view that gives his father a clear view of the repaired Bifrost a distance away.

Odin does not ask after Loki- so Thor begins for him.

"Father." He waits for Odin to take the second chance, to look at Thor and ask at the very least what happened to his youngest son if he cannot find the will to see for himself.

(Papa, Loki is hurt and I am scared and I don't know what to do.

It's Loki. Please.

Papa, _please_…)

Nothing. Thor glares at Odin's back and cannot explain the slight panic that has built up in his chest because Odin _still_ will not look at him.

Does he not understand that Loki is hurt? Loki is _hurt- _Loki is in _pain,_ and how does that not send a wildfire through his rib cage compelling him with the force of a thousand fires to _go_?

"_Father_," Thor says again. This time, with a steely edge, an unspoken warning to not try his patience any longer.

Odin seems to shake out of a reverie- his back straightening halfheartedly as he turns to Thor with an air of surprise. His face remains impassive, his one eye looking directly in Thor's water-blues, yet not clearly _seeing_. As if the weathered King of Asgard gazes at his oldest through a curtain. It frustrates Thor to no end- but the familiar guilt presses down on him soon enough. Because this is his _father_- and while Thor can barely conceal his frustration at Odin in his futileness and stillness- he knows without a doubt that Odin loves Loki with his entire heart and soul, no matter how many poisonous words were spoken between them. No matter how many times Loki would bare his teeth and throw all of his love back in Odin's face.

"My son," Odin says quietly but clearly. Thor cannot pretend Odin's choice of words are anything other than a greeting to _him_- not a question over _Loki_.

Thor wastes no time in asking. "Will you not go to him?"

He knows Odin can sense the simmering edge to his words that would send anyone else cowering in reverence of his danger- crackling behind his eyes like a barely concealed thunderstorm. But the Allfather merely looks at Thor, his gaze going cloudy and impassive as ever and saying with all of the calmness and composure in the Nine Realms-

"No."

Thor takes a second to breathe- unclench his fists. "And why not?" His voice fails at staying steady.

Odin gives no answer- merely raises his chin a fraction higher to remind Thor that he is not to lose respect with the ruler of Asgard, father or not.

"My reasons are not yours to demand- nor are they yours to question."

Thor swallows the lump of rage in his throat, and forces his next words to come out calm. "Loki is ailing- and I fear it is worse than we thought it to be."

This is it, Thor thinks numbly. This is where Odin is supposed to look at Thor with all of the accusation in the world, where he is supposed to strike him down in his incompetency. Where Odin is supposed to wrench Mjolnir from his unworthy grasp- because who gave Odin the weekly reports on Loki's condition? Who fed the lie that Loki was getting better? Who allowed himself to be blinded by hope that his brother was coming back instead of seeing things as they really were? Who was supposed to be making sure that Loki did not disappear out of his sight in the first place?

No such accusation comes. "I do not underestimate the gravity of the situation," says Odin, a trace of detachment in his voice. "I will not go to him simply because there is no more I can do for him."

A strange sort of desperation compels Thor to move closer, an almost fear that does not allow him to mentally process exactly what Odin could have meant by that.

"So…What do you plan to do?"

Odin exhales sharply before turning to Thor. "What course of action would you take in this… situation?"

Thor barely suppresses the roar of frustration building in his chest- because he knows his father well enough to understand that this is not a father asking for his eldest's advice in how to better care for his youngest- but rather the Allfather testing the heir to the throne of Asgard to see if he is really capable of handling grave circumstances such as these- because what business does Thor have in ruling a realm as grand as Asgard if he cannot handle a simple situation of troublesome family nuisances?

Thor barely manages to keep his voice steady as he answers with clarity, "The same as any brother would do. I would not rest until I knew my brother was safe and well within my ability to care for."

Odin seems to sigh at Thor's unspoken accusation, which only causes Thor's impatience to grow. Time is running scarce. The Healers should know by now the full prognosis of Loki's condition and he is stuck here attempting to convince his father that it is worth the effort to hear it.

"A true ruler must understand the effects his actions could bring on the entirety of a Realm. A mere slip in judgment could begin a ripple in the entire pond of Asgard, could hinder her growth and stability. You must learn, Thor, to pick your battles wisely to avoid setting off entire ripples that could lead your collective body of waters to turmoil."

Thor's disbelief gives way to confusion. "I hardly understand how helping my brother could potentially harm Asgard. He is my brother," he says somewhat lamely, because he does not want to believe what Odin might be saying is what he really means to say.

Odin blinks slowly. "You endangered your own life to save your brother's," he says bluntly. "Did you not think the implications your actions could have transpired?"

(Can this be the same father who clawed his way after his lost youngest son when Loki was little more than a boy, lost deep within the woods for hours on end and everyone was getting ready to call off the search because_, It is growing darker, Allfather… Soon the wolves will be out in the shadows and it will be too dark to fend them off…)_

"Loki was in dan-"

"Your actions could have led this house to ruin. Already people doubt the capabilities of the House of Odin to rule. A haywire, maniac prince," says Odin, his voice losing none of the detached calm, "That is what the people will compare your rule to and your every action as King of Asgard will be called into question because of it. Already there is doubt on where your true loyalties lie."

"My loyalty is to my family," Thor says, furious. "And when I am king-" (I'll hunt the monsters down and slay them all.) "-my loyalty will not waver in this. What kind of ruler can I be if I care not for my family?"

"A king must place his kingdom above all things. Yes, Thor-" he says calmly as Thor opens his mouth to protest, "even family. And that is not something you have exemplified to the people of Asgard. You put aside your duties as crown prince-"

"It was through your order that I protect my brother and I would have done so with or without your-"

"He is no longer your burden to bear, Thor."

Disbelief. Pure, numbing disbelief renders him mute.

_(Allfather, it has grown too dangerous to continue… He is most likely already…._And Odin silenced them with a look so utterly terrifying and silent that Thor could only shiver in fear of just how _strong_ his father was...)

"Once Eir has seen to him… it is well within my capabilities to see him imprisoned," says Odin, now talking to himself more than Thor.

"The lower dungeons. Seidr-restricting. Constant watch," Odin adds quietly as the guilt churns inside Thor's gut, to add to the reddish haze that has obscured his vision.

"Under what charges?" His voice is shaking uncontrollably now.

Odin regards his son with a detached gaze that manages to make Thor angrier as well as cautious. It would not be wise to lash out at the Allfather at this moment.

"It is well within my grasp to hold captive whomsoever I desire. As ruler of the Nine Realms," his voice growing dangerously, "I am certainly able to judge insolence in any member of this realm."

"Insolence," Thor trails off, the fury subsiding momentarily for disbelief.

Odin does not give him a chance to continue. Something fragile he was holding together in his voice seems to snap. "Loki violated my _direct_ order," his voice accenting every syllable as if admitting an unspeakable crime, "to refrain from his- _actions_. He _trespassed_ my authority to remain under your constant care," he spits at Thor as he winces in shame, "and in doing so, endangered the lives of my crown prince and his comraderies through his arrogance, recklessness and **stupidity**-"

His bellowing rant chokes off with a sudden widening of his eye as he clutches his chest over his heart with a withered hand and shudders violently. As he begins to slouch sideways, Thor moves quickly to help his father support himself- but stops as Odin shoots him a fearsome glare that commands him to freeze on the spot, chest heaving and mind unwilling to process exactly what Odin has just said.

Father and son pause for a moment, chests heaving and raging eyes dangerously tiptoeing the line between accord and outright hostility.

"Then _help_ him," Thor says beseechingly as Odin begins to straighten himself, his cloudy eye finding the distant view of the window again. "Do not chain him like a beast on a collar."

(When Odin finally emerged from the woods cradling his boy, Loki was shivering with big, fat tears streaming down his face. Thor could see three long, red gashes down the length of one skinny arm and torn tunic. He remembered the nauseating guilt he felt for weeks after, that only loosened its pincer-like hold when Loki was able to move his arm again weeks later. Nobody remembered to blame Thor, of course.)

"Will you really see your son imprisoned?" Thor nearly expects Odin to deny it- to rebuke his claim over Loki as his father- but it does not come.

Odin grasps Gungnir tight in his fist and turns to Thor, the creases seeming impossibly deeper on his face, all of the laughter lines pulling in the wrong direction. _Old_, he realizes dimly. _My father is old_.

"Loki will not be allowed out of sight once more," Odin says, ignoring the way Thor winces once again. "When he wakes, see to it that alternative arrangements be made for the time being. A concrete course of action will be decided once he is…" his voice trails off. "And send for the Lady Sif. I would have words with her."

Thor wants to argue against every order- Loki would be best in his care, Sif has no blame in this (it is all his, all _his_), Loki needs help, Loki needs love, Loki needs _you_. But Odin is not just Thor's father but also his king- and not even Thor is angry or foolish enough to disobey a direct order.

* * *

Everyone was so ready to give up on Loki. The number only grew in size as the years went. But Thor never did- and never would. And Thor realizes that is why he is scared. Because he did not think that Odin could become a part of that number too. He did not think his father truly capable of letting Loki g-

_(Father and son returned from the shattered Bifrost. It would remain unguarded for now- with the Gatekeeper injured and the state of it- and what did it matter anyway, when the bridge itself cannot pass or bring back?_

_Thor's eyes stung painfully. He ambled without thinking after his father, his mind still working on piecing itself back together. He was afraid of when it would finally catch up. _

**You. You did**_, is the only comprehensible thought that Thor found himself capable of thinking at his father's back. _You did not catch him- you let him go. You let my brother fall. **You- you did.**_)_

It fills him with a fear- not for himself, but for Loki. How deeply will it cut him to hear that his father no longer feels the need to rescue him? How much more could Loki unravel until there will remain nothing left to salvage?

Thor fears that this last act of turning away will break what precious little remains of his brother.

_(Thor could not see his father's face- the gray grief-stricken color of it, the bleached-out blue of his eye as he dimly concealed his shock at the pain he left behind and the pain sure to come. He and his son approached the castle doors, to his queen that stood waiting for her husband and two sons, and instead, received only heartbreak. _

_Odin tried to see through the dim and only kept coming back to the same child face- hearing that single word "_**no**_," attached to a name he cannot bring himself to utter again. _

_He could not stop the hate directed to the very core of himself because he did not think of the right words to say.)_

* * *

"Idiotic, fumbling _arse_ of a fool," Sif seethes. She grabs at the flagon of wine Volstagg was holding moments ago and launches it across the room where it hits against the wall with a _crash_.

"How can you possibly forget that he cannot take in anything as wine?" Sif hisses between her teeth, cutting off the beginnings of a protest from Volstagg's mouth. "Wine, mead, ale-" she counts on her fingers, "anything remotely inhibiting to the senses is _out_."

Sif paces furiously across the length of the room, grabbing small commonplace objects- trinkets, sketchbooks, pens- and tosses them furiously with the rest of the pile on the bed.

It has been hours since the Lady Sif returned from Odin's throne room, deeply shamed and _furious_. Her mood has not improved.

Volstagg stands dumbfounded at the entrance of the Loki's room, holding the bushels of food he was tasked to bring up from the kitchens. He looks to the other three for an explanation but all he receives is Fandral's shake of the head and Hogun's grim look of understanding. Thor says nothing. He cannot seem to look anybody in the face yet he moves forward to take the cases of breads and cheeses and meats from Volstagg's leaden arms with a silent nod of thanks.

The packages are heavy- samples of the greatest delicacies Asgard has to offer. Thor deposits the cases gently on the bed. He knows without a doubt that Loki will not eat a morsel if he can help it.

The greatest shield maiden in all of Asgard moves through all of Loki's possessions as if she is waging war on the room. The men fall silent as Sif wrenches book after book off the shelves and flings them behind her towards the bed without looking- either unaware or pointedly ignoring the sounds of books hitting their marks behind her. Fandral grunts in pain as a book finds its target in the center of his face and Hogun halfway smiles, but it is gone as soon as it came. The missing member of the group hangs between them in the air like something burning.

Thor gently opens the closet doors. He fingers the soft-colored tunics hanging limp and lifeless, as if their wearer has not bothered to put them on for some time. There is an air of neglect about them. Thor carefully selects a number loose, comfortable tunics, knowing that Loki prefers the looser fittings so his thinness would not be as readily noticeable. Thor remembers the scars (flashing red behind his eyelids) and flinches. He places the short-sleeved tunics back in their place.

Behind him, the jarring sound of a metallic clatter informs him that Sif found another blade- strategically hidden, no doubt. It falls in the corner with the other three she found. Thor holds his breath as he senses Sif grow steadily angrier and angrier. The trio senses it too and they move cautiously around the room, carefully organizing and gathering various objects that Loki could take comfort in when he's in his new quarters. They all pointedly ignore the corner.

Thor does his best to not allow Sif's fury to permeate his own. He feels it building deep inside his core and knows it is only a matter of time before it explodes out. For now, he mechanically folds tunic after tunic, breathing slowly in and out so he doesn't sink a fist deep into the walls of Loki's chambers.

It has been a close second, Thor's emphatic refusal to chain Loki inside a prison cell- and later his emphatic refusal to keep him chained to a hospital bed. Convincing Eir was no less difficult than convincing the Allfather. The old Healer was all for chaining Loki to a bed and keeping him in a seidr-induced coma to force-feed him "back into shape." The image of Loki being made a mind-numb puppet compelled Thor to argue. Carefully suppressed fury and calm words eventually convinced the Head Healer to a compromise- Loki would be moved from his private chambers and into a separate room joined with the Healing Chambers where the more critical patients were usually housed, under close monitoring and care of the Healers- at least until a permanent solution could be arranged.

After feeling as if he had battled a liege of bilgesnipe, Thor hunted down Sif and the Warriors Three to ask for their aid in clearing out Loki's chambers in the hopes of making everything blow over smoother when Loki was moved to his new quarters. He knew before starting that it wouldn't work. Yet the trio was more than eager to help (while Sif just seemed angry) and Thor cannot help but feel grateful as they work methodically beside him as they sift through all of Loki's possessions, trying not to feel like impostors. His mind is screaming for something to occupy it and though the hour is late and his body aches, he knows rest will not find him tonight. He can feel the fatigue of everyone in the room but his friends loyally gather clothes, paintings, chess pieces- anything and everything that Loki could hold any attachment to. He knows they all feel as hopeless as he does.

Thor tries not to think about how Loki will react to the news of moving to the care of the Healers full time and instead, he tries to focus on not seeing red. But the clatter of another blade- this one from between the pages of a book- is the last that Sif can take.

"How," she exclaims suddenly, as the other four flinch, "_how_? How can he be so- so-"

Sif blinks away furious tears as Fandral closes his gaping mouth and hesitantly glances to Thor. He pretends not to notice but he cannot stop himself from balling his fingers tightly, fisting a green sleeve between his hands.

"I do not understand," Sif spits out, "how I could not have seen this coming." She breathes hard and fast, the tips of her cheekbones flushed in rage or grief or both, Thor does not know.

"Sif," Fandral says quietly, gently closing his hand around her arm, "none of us saw this coming. None of us had any idea how bad…" He shoots another worried glace at Thor, who pointedly looks at nothing of significance.

"Yes," Hogun says quietly. "We cannot dwell on what has passed."

"Our efforts were at our greatest," Volstagg said, looking deeply unhappy. "We helped him as best we could."

Did they? Thor thinks, suddenly furious. Did they really?

And not just since Loki's return from Midgard. Years before, ages before, when they all found amusement in the younger prince's odd customs. When they good-naturedly and foolishly called him strange or odd or different or laughed at the way he did the things he did- was that not fault enough?

"It changes _nothing_," Sif snaps. She only seems to be getting angrier at the same time the Warriors Three run short of things to say. "He was placed under our care. We let this happen."

Her scorching gaze finds Thor and he cannot look away. It crackles in air, electric and foreboding, the accusation he suddenly realizes Sif holds in her eyes.

He swallows hard once. Twice. "Well?" He asks.

Sif's eyes go hesitant, then hard. "Will you go to the Allfather and ask him to reconsider?"

Thor fists his hands again. "I told you, I have. I've done all that I can for him, Sif. The Allfather will not budge."

"Try harder," Sif beseeches him. "I fear that _this_," she says, gesturing at the mess around them, "will do much more damage than good."

"And you think I do not know that?" Thor's voice rises in volume and the others visibly retreat, but Sif glares back unflinchingly. The unspoken fault lies heavy between them, the nagging, pressing guilt that points the finger at the two tasked with watching over the once-again fallen prince.

"You did not see him, Sif. You did not see how far he has pushed himself to the brink of his own death and now I fear I cannot pull him back," he says and he can hear his voice waver but he is too angry to care.

"I was there, was I not? We saw him lunge over the edge, we were both there-"

Thor is either unwilling or unable to tell her how thick the scars are.

"Sif-" Fandral begins, but she cuts across him.

"I do not understand, Thor. Neither you nor Loki. We have to do _something_."

"What else do you want me to do? Because I have tried every _damn_ thing," says Thor, dimly realizing he is shouting now, "but I am at a loss to know what else there remains for me to tell him which he has not already heard! I have tried and tried to show him he is loved, he is safe, but he jumped, Sif! He jumped and I do not know how to _fix_ him-"

"I do not know either," Sif nearly shouts, and the anguish in her face makes Thor look away, "but we have to do it better this time. We failed and while I am furious at what he has done- to you, to himself- we cannot let it happen again."

"Thor-" Volstagg tries, but is silenced with a single scorching look.

"I know that. I know what has to be done but _he does not want to live_, Sif." His voice cracks and he feels Fandral look away embarrassed but he simply _does not care_. "I thought he was getting better but he was not. He did not. And I can see no other way to keep him _safe_ other than this. I do not know how to make him want to _live_-"

"But we have to _try_-"

"For Loki?" Thor snaps, feeling surprisingly savage. "Or to reclaim your honor, seeing as how you failed to protect your prince?"

She recoils sharply. "You have fault in this as much as I, Thor! If not greater," she retorts, her voice ugly.

And there it is. He feels a savage satisfaction in the accusation, the guilt exploding in his gut that no one else has yet placed on him. Sif is seething, either feeling much too furious at him, or herself, or Loki, to take anything back, but he sees her eyes brim with tears as she realizes what she just said. And he cannot hold it against her for blaming him. He goaded her on to saying it. He _wanted_ her to say it. And it is true. All of it.

Their audience collectively freezes, waiting for the storm that will strike Sif where she stands.

Instead, he turns around and walks out. The others stay dead silent behind him. It is not like Thor to walk away from a fight.

* * *

When he passes the Healing Room, he crouches on the floor and sinks down to sit against the wall. He realizes he is still holding one of Loki's tunics. It is painfully familiar, one of the many he used to wear in simpler times. Before now. Before Frigga. Before he fell (let go) from Bifrost.

And along with the guilt of his little brother lying on a hospital bed, the weight of his angry words at Sif add to the heaviness in his heart. He will apologize, when he sees her again. When he can focus on more than one thing at a time. He drops his face in his hands, breathing raggedly and deeply. He is only making things _worse_.

He brings Loki's tunic to his face and inhales deeply. He cannot say if the achingly familiar scent is actually there or if his mind is so grief-stricken that he imagines it. He cares not either way. He holds the tunic over his face until Loki's scent is all that lingers in his mind.

* * *

(You give up this poisonous dream.)

He wakes, the echoing remnants of a dream evaporating away before he has a chance to recall it.

(You come _home._)

The thrumming of the blood through his veins is too weak but he can feel every shivery beat. His paper-thin skin is near transparent- the rivers of veins underneath his skin are too perceptible. He hates it. He hates it but- (he cannot stop)

Loki wakes up to the pain. He wheezes- twists his body over the sheets and clutches his side. His organs are convulsing, the acids corroding the lining of everything inside of him and he feels tears begin to build in his eyes as he chokes back bile. What did they give him? Don't they know that food will only fill his stomach until it bursts out filth?

(His brain his heart his bones his blood _sings-_ for food for dirt for anything to fill this searing hollowness)

This hunger is the worst kind of hunger. He has long since progressed beyond the aching discomfort of denying himself sustenance for a mere handful of days. The searing pain of starvation has escalated into a numbness. No longer just hungry. He has progressed instead into this animalistic starvation so intense, he can feel his entire body going into shock.

This is the result of _months _of discipline, of trickery, of dedication- of _work_. He should feel proud of the result but instead, he only feels sick.

He can feel it deep inside his bones. His racing heart will not slow down. The tremors in his fingers have moved beyond his ability to control for some time now- even before his blaze through the woods. (Did that really happen or did he imagine it?) There is not a single cut along his skin that has ever fully healed. There is a freezing chill he cannot shake, the kind that lives inside his marrow so deeply it hurts. His body is practically screaming in its primal need to _live_- he can feel it in the desperate clanging of his heart.

His body- despite the emphatic refusal of _himself_- desperately wants to survive. He has never felt more betrayed by anything else in his life.

He remembers water. He remembers cold. He remembers- (Thor)

_(shut up)_

There is little else to recall. He finds it hard to stay tethered to anything these days.

He cannot focus. His surroundings are a haze- everything muddled except the ever constant _fear_. Of what- he doesn't really know. He cannot describe it. Nobody ever thought to explain it to him.

Sometimes he thinks that the unseen monster lives underneath his skin. He's been carving it out of him, piece by piece, a little more every day. One day they will see it for themselves. He will exorcise himself and banish the creature from his skin and maybe then, he could _finally_ go to sleep. Thor can take care whatever demon is left behind. Didn't he say once that he would hunt these monsters down and slay them all?

But he will not let Thor beat him to himself.

* * *

Thor had drifted off sometime in the night and he does not notice until the Healer is standing directly in front of him.

"My lord? Prince Thor?"

He jumps slightly and opens his eyes. It is the young Healer from before, the kind one.

He opens his mouth to ask but finds he cannot speak, panic suddenly choking him.

"He has stabilized, my liege," she says, cutting across his stuttering. "He drifted in and out of consciousness and panicked on one occasion, but he is still now. He needs to rest more than anything," she says soothingly as some of the tension visibly relaxes from Thor's shoulders.

"Can I see him?" He asks quickly, the ability to speak returning as the numbing relief washes over him.

Something hidden flashes behind the Healer's eyes. "I'm afraid that might not be the best idea as the moment. He needs to rest now," she says, not unkindly. "Perhaps when he is more… aware."

Thor swallows the once again climbing panic. "Is there something wrong?"

The Healer sighs briefly. "No more than to be expected, Lord Thor. He is simply not as aware as he should be. He does not recognize anyone at the moment," she adds after a second of hesitation.

_No more than to be expected. _Thor wonders how much "wrong" they expected before Loki's jump.

"I thank you," he says and he means it. The Healer gives a slight smile of acceptance. A thought occurs to him and he holds out the tunic for her to take.

"Please give this to him and tell him… tell him that his brother wishes he returns to us soon," he finishes haltingly.

The Healer smiles kindly, albeit a little sadly, and bows her head. "I will be sure to tell him," she says as she takes the outstretched tunic.

She bows her head again in farewell and turns to the Healing Room.

He ignores the sudden pang of hurt at the way she closes the door behind her. On the other side where Loki is and where he cannot be.

* * *

"…return to him and your family soon." A pause. "They miss you wholeheartedly."

He can taste the lie before he's even fully awake. He tries to open his eyes but finds they are laden with some heavy weight and he cannot lift them. He tries to sharpen his train of thought but there is a barrier there that he cannot break down. He recognizes the sharp smell of seidr in the air, the gold haze behind his eyelids and he knows what they are doing to him.

How long will they keep imprisoning him this way?

Something gently lifts his head off his pillow and he would lash out if he could make use of his limbs. When his head is placed back down, he feels a cushion there. Something soft, like cloth, brushes against his cheek and stays there.

It smells like oak and rainwater and sunlight and something else that is warm and painfully familiar and _safe_. The barely functioning part of his brain screams at him to move away, to turn away from the smell before it only hurts him later for some reason he knows was urgent but cannot recall now. He struggles to remember why it is not a good idea to let it affect him so but the scent is so comforting and so _warm_ that he slowly turns his head towards the softness and buries his face in it and inhales the scent once. Twice. He holds it in his lungs for as long as he can, suddenly terrified that breathing in too much too fast will make it disappear faster.

He is too tired to remember why he thought this was a dangerous thing to do. He inhales deeply until the familiar scent is all that lingers in his mind. He stops fighting the pull of sleep and allows himself to drift away.

* * *

A/N: I hope it was worth the wait. I really appreciate all those who take the time to review. I read all of them and take them to heart. They make me try harder to be a better writer. Thank you *cries with my ugly face*

Next chapter will have more of a plot- originally I planned for this one to have a faster plot but it felt too forced. They are all still somewhat in shock over the events so I felt more feels than action was appropriate (he he he) Let me know how that works for you!


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